


Lost in the Paradise of Your Arms

by LeksaLover



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clexa, Crash Landing, F/F
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-29
Packaged: 2018-07-14 19:30:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7187099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeksaLover/pseuds/LeksaLover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>i was bored. It was past midnight. I give you sneak peak of Clexa getting stuck on an island from a disastrous crash. Hopefully everyone makes it. (Or I could add Pike and Titus and this random character named Jason just for the fun of using death to shock people. That would make this storyline just so much better, wouldn't it? Now I'm just not bitter at all, now, am I? nope)</p><p>i hope you like it. If you do, and you want more, let me know. I'll be happy to oblige. </p><p>peace xx</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Pilot

“It’s funny how things like this actually happen.”

“Oh, really?” the blonde chokes on the words. Her hands tremble in their places on the other girl’s abdomen, her sleeves soaking up the stranger’s blood. 

“It’s such a popular trope, you know? Plane crash, strangers on an island-” the brunette girl coughs up a small amount of blood and one hand moves from her stomach to her lips in an attempt to shush her. Quickly, though, the attempt is abandoned and the blonde, Clarke goes back to applying pressure.

“Hey,” the girl smiles, even though she is bleeding out and Clarke doesn’t know what to do and there is chaos and screaming around them. “At least one of us is surviving, right? Just promise me you’ll do that. Survive. For the both of us.” 

Clarke squeezes her eyes shut. She doesn’t know why her heart is clenching so tightly in her chest. She had met Lexa exactly four hours earlier, when they had taken seats together on the plane. Because Clarke’s TV set was broken, they had watched together on Lexa’s, and bonded afterwards on the terrible selection. 

“Maybe life is about more than just surviving.” Clarke whispers, repeating the words as if doing so will make them true, will change reality, will allow her to go back to the easy conversations with the beautiful stranger on the plane. 

“Not anymore.” Lexa tells her, gesturing around, “Now there’s nothing else to live for but living. If people don’t see the point in that, they won’t be able to make it. Clarke. You have to make them see.”

“You’re delirious from blood loss.” Clarke tells her, in the most soothing calming voice she can manage.

Lexa laughs, “Was that supposed to be calming? No wonder you’re running away from med school to become an artist.” 

“Was that supposed to be flirting? Cause A, you suck, and B, you don’t got time for flirting, it’s all about survival now, by your own account.”

By now, though, Lexa’s eyes have closed and her laboured breathing has eased into the kind of even, slow breathing that accompanies unconsciousness.


	2. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flirting

Now of course, there was no way Clarke had any intention of "surviving for the both of them" and every way for her to have every intention of saving the beautiful stranger. 

With Lexa now unconscious, Clarke knew two things. One, this was as close to anesthesia as they were probably going to get and two, Lexa wasn't allowed to stay unconscious. With these things in mind, Clarke quickly tore open Lexa's shirt, inspected the wound, and plunged her fingers into it, quickly extracting the bloodied shrapnel from the opening. 

Lexa jerked awake with a hiss, but she was pushed back by Clarke's bloody hand on her shoulder. 

"You need to stay awake. Can you do that for me? We'll just keep talking. I need it as much as you." It was true. Clarke needed her right now- needed someone to tell her that everything was going to be okay, to soothe her frazzled nerves. 

"Your mom will be less mad at you for leaving med school at least." Lexa mentions, offhandedly, "I mean she'll be pissed that you booked the one plane in a bachoodle that was gonna crash and burn into the wilderness, but she'll be so glad you're okay she'll probably be more accepting of your art choices." 

"So you really were listening to my life story, huh?"

"Of course," Lexa's eyebrows scrunch together in confusion, "Why wouldn't I have been?" 

"Most people just pretend to listen to be polite."

"It is polite to pretend to listen? I am sorry for having paid atten-" Clarke cut her off with laughter. 

"No, no. You're perfect. It's just that instead of bluntly showing disinterest, many people fake interest to avoid hurting others' feelings." 

"I would not do such a thing."

“Well that just goes to prove you’re not like most other people the, are you, Miss Alexandria? Besides the being rich part, of course.” 

“So you were listening to my story, too, then.” a smirk graced Lexa’s rosy lips, momentarily replacing the pain that had been previously displayed there. 

“Duh.” Clarke tried to resist the urge to run her fingers across the other girl’s forehead, to smooth the small wayward curls into place, “A pretty young lady like you, running from everything behind you, like me? It’s as though we were destined to meet. I was kind of hoping to get your number, actually. I was hoping we could be friends in New York.” 

“5557739292.” Lexa groans out, breathlessly.  
“What?” 

“My number. You said you had wanted it.” Lexa said simply, brightly, “And I had wanted to give it to you. So I did. Now there.” She seemed immensely pleased with herself, as if she had solved all the world’s problems, and it was easy for Clarke to forget that she was literally holding the girl together, the small hole in stomach now only weakly pulsing out blood. 

“So you did.” Clarke said, bemusedly, “Now if we only could skip to the being friends in New York part, instead of being wherever the hell we are now.”

“I don’t know if we will be able to promise each other New York. But I can promise to be your friend wherever the hell we are now.” Lexa quoted her, solemnly. Clarke swallowed hard at the way Lexa’s serious voice had made her words sound like a vow of fealty or something.

“Okay. Friends?” Clarke smiled. 

“I’d hope you were my friend. I’d hate to have someone not a friend holding my stomach together.” 

They stayed like that, conversing quietly, as the time faded with the light of the setting sun, and continued to learn more about the other without the hindrance of sight. 

By the time Clarke fell asleep to the sound of Lexa’s voice in the pre-dawn silence, Lexa had stopped bleeding and the two of them felt more whole than they had in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. So. I wrote most of this a lot earlier, but... I wasn't ready to publish it for a couple of reasons. 
> 
> I am struggling, though admittedly not nearly as much as some, emotionally from the Orlando massacre. What happened wasn't right and its terrifying and the renewed awareness of the real possibility of it happening again can be suffocating. 
> 
> I'm pretty closeted in real life, so this was scary for me because it made me want to reject everything I have been struggling to come to terms with about my own sexuality, having been brought up in an overly religious family. 
> 
> I just needed to say that. Sorry for the heaviness. :) 
> 
> ste yuj, everybody.


	3. Good Morning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clexa wakes up the sunrise and finds the beauty of all the world in each other.

“Clarke.” 

The new day is dawning, complete with orange and purple rows of cloud marking the horizon, behind the shadows of the trees. From here, the pillar of smoke from the wreckage blocks out nearly half the sky, and Lexa wonders how Clarke got her so far away from it. Clarke. Lexa is trying to wake her up, she remembers.

“Clarke.” Her blond hairs falls in front of her face, draping across like a curtain to hide the beauty behind it from Lexa’s view. From where Lexa lays still, afraid to move for fear of aggravating her wound, Clarke is just far enough away where Lexa can’t reach her. Just as the cold fingers of fear begin to grasp Lexa’s heart, Clarke stirs. 

“Clarke.” Lexa doesn’t fight the hopeful inflection in her voice, fighting the will to turn her torso to watch every movement of the other girl. The urge to protect surged like fire in her blood, igniting the passions in her veins and causing her to gasp under her breath when Clarke finally turned to her. 

She’s beautiful, Lexa thinks. With her head framed with all the beauties of the sky, her eyes a bright blue, promising of what would soon come after the sunrise, and with the upsloping quirk of a smile on her lips, it would have been easy to overlook the scrape and bruising on her cheek. Lexa overlooked nothing, she saw everything, from the way Clarke’s hair moved in the slight easterly breeze to the way that she winced ever so slightly when putting weight on her right wrist. 

“Good morning,” Clarke whispered, her voice hoarse both from sleep and from the effort of trying to disguise her own thoughts. She’s beautiful, Clarke thinks. With her face framed by all the wonders of the ground, the green of her eyes making her look at home in the forest around her. 

“Good morning?” Lexa snorts, giving in to her body’s desire to move as she bursts into laughter, clutching her injury. 

“Stay still! You’ll start bleeding again!!” Clarke admonishes, but Lexa is deaf to her pleas, laughing because the goofy girl beside her has the presence of mind to say good morning after a plane wreck in the middle of nowhere. 

“We were just in a plane wreck and you say ‘good morning’?” 

“Oh, shut up. It was, until you started laughing at me!” 

“Yeah? What was good about it?” Lexa has stopped laughing now, her green eyes staring in Clarke’s blue one in what is half-challenge and half-acceptance. 

“It’s so beautiful. You’re alive,” a breathy, nervous laugh bubbles out of Clarke’s lips unbidden, “We’re both alive and we’re together. We found each other, maybe just for this.” 

Lexa doesn’t say anything for a long moment, letting the words wash over them as they watch the progression of the sun across the sky. 

“Good morning, Clarke.” 

Shouting down on the beach disrupts the understanding, accepting silence between them.

“We’re not alone.” Clarke whispers, an unknown feeling flaring up in her chest. 

“It would appear that we are not.”

“I swear, I don’t know if you’re actually that posh all the time, or if you’re mocking me when you talk like that.”

“Better work on your people skills, then, Clarke.” 

‘If you weren’t such a damn enigma, I would show you what a great people reader I am.”

“It’s okay if you’re not good at reading people, Clarke. We are what we are.” 

This time, Clarke knows Lexa is baiting her. The way she can’t control the smirk at the corner of her lips, the way her eyes sparkle in the light with wicked pleasure. 

“And what you are is a spoiled rich kid who ran away from home.” 

“And you’re the med student who had everything and left it to become an impoverished, hungry artist.”

“And you’re the poet studying for a politics and business degree.” 

“You’re the one who blames her mother for her father’s death.”

“You’re the one who blames yourself.” 

“You’re the one right here with me.”

“And you’re the one right here with me.” Clarke lays her head on Lexa’s shoulder and they sit there in their contemplative silence, ignoring the world around them for as long as they possibly can, until the sun rises high enough above it all to light the entire world.


End file.
